


Blunt Shears, Sunken Eyes

by deutschtard



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Gore, spoilers for buffet froid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deutschtard/pseuds/deutschtard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doctor Lecter makes a room in his memory palace to memorialize his old colleague, Dr. Sutcliffe, and ponders Miss Madchen and Will's connection</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blunt Shears, Sunken Eyes

     Dr. Sutcliffe's last meal with Hannibal had been a good one, Lecter had ensured it. They talked, and Hannibal listened with a placid expression. He knew what the future held, whether his former colleague did or not. It was a pity he had fallen so low, but Hannibal did not regret testing him with the bribe. It enabled him to study Will more closely, and for longer, and it enabled him to find release for the pressure that had been building up ever so slightly just beyond his eyes.

     There was an open room in his memory palace, one he had carefully crafted to look like Dr. Sutcliffe's own office. He would remember him, posed there, forevermore, something between a photograph and a sculpture, something he could come back and gaze upon whenever he wished.

     He had kindly handed the earplugs to Dr. Sutcliffe for Will, though he had coated them with a mild anesthetic. Will would be unconscious for plenty of time for him to do his work. A small part of Hannibal was sad to see his colleague go, but he had taken the bribe without hesitation, showed little remorse. Though it played into Hannibal's plan, he could not account for the disrespect to the life of Will Graham that such a supposed self-respecting physician allowed for a mere pittance. Something as precious as Will Graham's mind could not be quantified, nor could it be thrown away so easily.

     Sutcliffe had died easily, it was as simple as a quick blow to the windpipe to incapacitate him, much as he did with Tobias Budge. Thankfully, he hadn't expected it, and went down without much of a fight. Then it was just a single hand around the throat for just long enough. Hannibal wasn't about to leave ligature marks, that would spoil things. The closed doors of his office, and the late hour, provided Hannibal with the perfect shroud of privacy. His plastic suit was removed from his briefcase and put on just as carefully as if it were made of the finest imported cloth.

     It was remarkably easy to separate the skin and muscles that kept the top of the head and brain from falling backwards when one opened their mouth. The blood splattered across the plastic, and he worked as though gutting a fish for dinner, methodical, careful, precise. But not too precise. After all, he was using such crude instruments, and he could not divert from the original modis opporandi of the original victim. A stench of rotten meat quickly entered the room, and Hannibal could hear her ragged breathing. He knew she could not see his face, he was not worried, though he wished she had given him just a moment more, the evenness of the incisions was not quite there. He would be the only one displeased with the state of Dr. Sutcliffe's face in that manner.

     She looked at him, confused, cocking her head like an intrigued puppy. Hannibal finished the last little bit, the last she would allow him—as he knew now he was working on a schedule—and turned around to look at her. She could not see his face, but he could see hers, and it was beautiful in its grotesque nature. The girl had truly believed herself dead so long her body had begun to agree with her, fashioning her features into something more zombie-like than human. Would that he had more time, he could stand there and appraise her in her full beauty. But a life such as his afforded him no such possibilities. No matter, he was able to easily catalog her visage, she would make an interesting installation in his memory palace.

     He noticed her body language as he approached her, and he was careful, almost cautious, as he stood in front of her. Whatever she saw in front of her must have frightened her, made her cautious, but she knew there was something different about this no-faced creature. There was something about him he knew she wouldn't be able to quite understand, especially with her mind in such a state. Gently he held the bloody shears out to her, and he smiled when she took them, though he knew she could not see.

     There was only enough time for a second's pause to capture the memory, mouth flayed open much like in his old anatomy textbooks, but posed in such a way, the lighting of the office illuminating it just so. It was beautiful.

     At home, Hannibal sipped a Cabernet as the sounds of a Bach concerto filled the walls of his study. He did not grieve the loss of Dr. Sutcliffe as he had told Jack Crawford, he reveled in it slightly. As the final note of the concerto came with a finality, he walked back through the halls of his memory palace, out to the front doors, and opened his eyes. A smile settled on his lips as he took the last liquid in his glass, drank it and stood. He wondered if those sunken eyes of Miss Madchen had made their way into Will's dreams yet, if they'd broken through any of his forts. He would have to ask in their next session.


End file.
